Be True to Yourself October 11, 2017 · Fr.

Stephen Freeman

I recall the excitement that I felt every year as a child and as a teenager as the signs of summer’s end came.
Looming ahead was the beginning of a new school year. It never felt like a return to what I had known the
year before, but as an opportunity for something new. In my teen years, the secret something new that felt
exciting was a “new” me. Of course, that guy never appeared.
In August of 1965, I was slated to enter a brand new school, a combined junior-senior high. It was the
beginning of life as a teen. It was 1965, and I felt the lure of something “cool.” I remember shopping for
school clothes and buying a few things that, in hindsight, would be classified as “mod.” I was reinventing
myself. It didn’t work.
Hidden within almost every new experience, I think, is the lure of the “new self.” The new self, of course, is
wiser than the old and will not make the same mistakes. The new self starts with an imaginary clean slate
with the baggage of the past left behind. The new self presumes collective amnesia on the part of everyone
else.
There are, doubtless, many of these dreams within the heart of every religious convert. I recall reading the
deep frustration expressed by one convert to Orthodoxy that he had seen no evidence of theosis in his life. I
daresay he had seen little or no moral improvement as well.
I had occasion during my recent pilgrimage to hear senior Orthodox monastics speak about the Christian
life in general, and monasticism, in particular. I was struck that a common topic emerged from both: “We
must be true to ourselves.” The monastic who enters the life trying to be somebody other than themselves
will not survive. One of the fathers observed that it is increasingly difficult to find good candidates for the
monastic life – reflecting the disordered personalities so rife within our cultures.
On a personal level, I was struck by how much of what was shared was like things I have written myself.
When that sort of thing happens, I confess to simply being reassured with the comfort of having gotten
something “right.” It was from a monastic that I first heard teaching about the “false self,” so I suppose I
should not have been surprised.
The invention of the self (and its reinvention), much like my childhood fantasies, is delusional. It is a
wasted effort in which everything runs in the wrong direction. We can, in truth, never be other than we are;
everything else is a façade, a psychological Potemkin Village. Such efforts never hold up to examination.
The greater task is the journey towards the true self. The Elder Sophrony said quite succinctly: “The way up
is the way down.” The mindset within our modern culture is one of constant progress, of striving to be
something other than what we are. The classical pattern within the Church does the opposite – it moves
towards a deeper and deeper realization of the truth of our being. On the one hand, this is the heart of
repentance. Repentance in the modern mind is distorted into just one more model of progressive change.
True repentance is not found in being what we are not, but in confessing and confronting what and who we
truly are. This is the heart of Sophrony’s other adage: “Teach them to bear a little shame.”
It is with this understanding that I have challenged the notion of “moral progress.” That concept, when
practiced by the modern mind, is delusional. It is not that there is no change (we are surely promised
transformation in Christ), but that the change which occurs is something other than the progressive notions
of the modern world. We do not get “better and better.” More accurately, we may become more honest,
more truly ourselves, more willing to acknowledge the truth of our lives, more willing to bear our weakness
and infirmities.
In the paradoxical life of true Christianity, striving to be better often feeds the darkness of our shame. We
become angry at our failures, judgmental of those around us, suspicious of others, anxious and depressed.
The Cross provides the pattern for the Christian life. It is the great counter-intuitive march towards glory, a
glory that is crucifixion itself.
The moral/spiritual life, when treated as one more progressive project, is largely marked by constant failure
or worse. We cannot teach a corpse to behave like a living human being. Until the inner-man is healed, all
outward efforts will end in frustration or a false existence. What is required in our life is not new behavior
but a new creation.
That new creation begins in the very depth of the soul. The journey to that depth is marked by weakness,
shame, loneliness and what might even feel like failure. It is the difficult work of bringing into the light what
we would often prefer to remain hidden. Christ has not come to improve us, but to remake us from the
inside out.
That same work requires safety and emotional support. We do not enter the dark under the threat of
punishment. The spiritual work of moral improvement, particularly undertaken with the threat of eternal
punishment, yields very little, if any, interior work. In what is often a shaming atmosphere, one dare not
approach the depths of greater shame. The result might be marked by certain changes in behavior, but not
the sort of healing and transformation that is the hallmark of the saving work of Christ. The many dark
deeds done in the name of Christ are the predictable fruit of moralism.
There is a new self in Christ, renewed according to the image of Christ within. It is in no way the product of
our own efforts. Every imagination we might have as to the contours of that new self is just that –
imagination – and nothing more.
 Gentleness, kindness, and love with deep respect and empathy for the spiritual struggle of others is the
required path of a wise shepherd. God has promised to do the work – if we dare let Him.
Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the
power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever.
Amen. (Eph. 3:20-21)

1. Kristin says: Nicholas- I, too, grew up an Army brat! Once I hit 7th grade I changed schools every year until I left for
college. I found there were certain changes I could ‘try on,’ so to speak. Perhaps I found some success because I was never
in a school more than a few months…
As a result, however, long term friendships, especially with civilians unfamiliar with the nature of military friendships,
seemed nearly impossible. Somehow my husband and I have lived in our house current for 15 years, in one state for 20, and
I no longer have the urge to pack every single summer. It took about a decade to get to this.
I guess this all points to our need for time-lots of it-to allow deep change to occur. Stability of place is also good and can be
healing over the long haul. I guess it’s ok I haven’t planted many trees on our property these15 years (oh they’d be so tall
now!). We’ve been unraveling our past transience and raising children while being so broken ourselves.
Fr Stephen- thanks again for giving me so much to think about today! It’s very nice to have you back.
2. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Kristin, Stability is considered an essential part of the monastic existence (and therefore an
essential part of the spiritual life for everyone). One of the desert fathers said, “Stay in your cell and your cell will teach you
everything.” I will soon pass 30 years in my present house…nearly half my life. We’ve planted a tree (I want to plant
another). We probably need to be more like trees and less like rabbits.
3. William Gall says: I realize that The Ladder of Divine Ascent is not meant to ne a step-by-step process, though it surely
seems designed that way. But my understanding of the confession and repentance is that we are to put forth effort to forsake
our prevalent sins, and to focus on practicing the virtue that corresponds to that vice, with the guidance of our spiritual
father, all the while putting forth our plea to the Lord for mercy. We trust His providence AND put forth effort, beginning
with the forsaking of our evil thoughts ( with the realization that with more insight into our fallen selves we will not be
seeing any progress we make so as to avoid the temptation of pride). The vice/virtue understanding I learned from a book
about St Gregory Palamas’ teachings.
4. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: William, But, strangely, if you read the Ladder carefully, you discover something other than
what you seem to be describing. In book four, we read, “You can only heal shame by shame.” My point is that the kind of
“putting forth effort” that most people engage in is counter-productive and shame-avoiding. We put forth effort, but the
effort is quite contrary to what most people mean by that. It is this that is not understood, and, because most of us, including
priests, are captive to a modern mindset, gets consistently interpreted incorrectly.
5. learningtobestill2016 says: I have been trying off and on for twenty years to “do” contemplative prayer. Some weeks ago, I
quit. I still sit, but now I consciously turn the whole thing over to God. In other words, I am no longer practicing
contemplative prayer to change myself. I am now just offering myself to God – and getting out of his way for at least twenty
minutes, twice a day – so He can do with me whatever He wants to do. I hope this new practice conforms to what you have
written about, Father.
By the way, “we probably need to be more like trees and less like rabbits,” reminds me of the Benedictines. Unlike other
Western orders, the first vow of a Benedictine novice is a vow of stability, a promise to remain and live out the rest of one’s
life in the monastery being entered, instead of moving around from place to place, from one monastery to another. Some
Benedictine monasteries leave an open grave close to the gate, to remind the brothers that they are never, ever, going
anywhere else. Much wisdom in that, I think.
6. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Learning, Meditation takes a lot of forms…much like my changed version of the Jesus Prayer.
It’s good not to be stuck.
Perhaps a good vow of stability would be to agree before God that you would be yourself.
7. ELM says: What is meant by “disordered personalities” not making for good monks and nuns? Does that mean we are
spiritually weak as a society or ridden with mental illnesses? Or not “tough” like your fellow pilgrims who you compared
yourself with in your previous post?
Another question related to Learning’s comment: What do we do (if anything) when we no longer ‘feel’ contrition? I am
have been working my way out of a depressive episode and have not felt contrite (or especially plaintative or joyful) for a
while. The inside of me just seems kind of flat right now. I am happy again, finally, but in an internally passive kind of way,
if that makes sense. I tried to regain these “senses” of joy, contrition, ehoetation, etc. during the depression but couldn’t
seem to find a way to do so without compacting the depression that was there. So I stepped back. Now I feel more ready to
try to strengthen my inner voice, if that is possible.
Thank you for sharing about your pilgrimage, Father!
8. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: ELM What I meant by “disordered personalities” was a variety of things. The Athonite life is
very difficult and strenuous. Any number of disorders would very likely not adjust well. One monastic said that many
young monks of recent times have very difficult problems with obedience – they have been nurtured in an environment in
which there are almost no experiences that confront a self-willed life. Another Abbot whom I know (from elsewhere)
observed that an increasing number of people come from broken homes or disordered families. With that comes a lack of
experience and formation in family life in general (it can create a problem in building a stable marriage, too). A monastic
community cannot long exist and do its work if there is internal strife. The life heals many things, but it needs a certainly
amount of stability for that process to take place.
 I would suggest that we are not riddled with mental illness as a society – at least not in a full-blown clinical sense – but we
are indeed riddled with personalities whose formation has been terribly disordered.
I have written (or spoken) that being a parish priest often feels like being a principal in a middle school. Our culture has no
social mechanisms for nurturing adult personalities. It only nurtures consumerism. Middle School is a massive shame pit –
in which teens posture and hide, bully and move from identity to identity searching for safety. Those who succeed best are
those from stable home environments where they are nurtured in enough security to experience some amount of adult
formation.
I could write on and on about the social/psychological problems in our present youth culture. In sum, it does not produce
very many candidates for monasticism. It’s hard as well to find good candidates for the priesthood – personalities that are
mature enough to patiently and wisely lead a community of people.
My experience as a parish priest for some 35 years is that the process has often revealed my own “cracks.” Most of the
mistakes I have made are precisely due to character flaws. As I near retirement age those flaws are improved but not healed
and they still cause me to stumble from time to time, or to become part of a bad decision or reaction.
Nobody is perfect, of course. The question is how “imperfect” can a personality be and still flourish in certain situations.
For monastics, it’s why they have probationary periods (novice) and have since the very beginnings of that form of life.
The most tragic situations are when a “diseased” personality remains in the life or in a parish position of leadership. I have
known of a serious narcissistic personality in the position of abbot or pastor where extreme damage was done to those
within his community. The phenomenon of “spiritual abuse” is rooted mostly in that sort of situation.
By God’s grace, we pray for healthy leaders and stable communities where any and all of us can find the nurture and safety,
honesty and love required for a life of healing.
9. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Many things, such as anger, envy, lust, etc., have a deeper root within – most often involving
matters of shame. What is done is simply trying to avoid have those those or actions. In and of itself this is not bad, but not
much will change because the core problem remains untouched. We cannot train ourselves simply to behave. This is St.
Paul’s lament about not doing what he wants but doing what he doesn’t want.
Those efforts are not worthless, in and of themselves, but, over time, their continued failure can have very negative effects
of various sorts. “The way down is the way up,” because the problems lie “down,” or “within.” That inner effort has much
to do with a “good confession.” That confession can be a place where we learn to “bear a little shame.” We acknowledge
not so much our efforts, but rather darker things.
I knew a man who struggled over being angry with his teens. They did stuff that teens typically do. He could easily justify
his anger, but it was damaging the relationship and becoming habitual, and was too easily triggered. His spiritual father
pointed him towards his shame. When his teens would disobey, it felt disrespectful and, therefore, shaming. It was the
shame that was triggering the anger. He learned to confront the shame without unnecessarily defending himself and gained
a greater peace.
That’s a small, even an easy example. Many habits of shame can become parts of our character.
I took a test once that mapped out character issues. To my great embarrassment, it revealed a problem of cowardice. I really
hated that test. But it helped me begin to see, over a long review of my life, that certain situations make me quite irrational,
and I will seek to placate a person in an unpleasant situation, even if it’s inappropriate. Over the course of my life, it created
many problems. It almost always led me to make bad decisions, and the decisions would later lead to a much deeper,
depressing shame – the kind that leaves you in a fetal position.
The hard inner work (which is still a slow part of my life) has been learning to accurately describe to myself (and confess)
what is going on. It’s the kind of flaw that I “hate” and “despise.” It makes me have no respect for myself and that’s a
terrible trigger for other things.
Attending to things like that are the sort of work I’m describing. I think, upon reflection, that it is not all all easy for a
younger person. Much of the deeper insights in my life have only come with age. The pattern is more easily identifiable. It
might also be that I’ve got better spiritual direction now.
The single best thing I’ve read on confession, is a book by the Monk Seraphim (Aldea), The Voice in Confession. It’s short,
but spot on.
10. Alan says:
October 13, 2017 at 1:38 am
Father Stephen,
You mentioned a book on confession by Monk Seraphim. In that book, he writes:
“The first and most useful one is to try to reduce your confession as much as possible. Try to keep it under three minutes,
for example. The way to do that is to look for the source of evil. I mean, do not make philosophy. Do not be expanding your
confession. Do not give any sort of context. Be as simple and plain as you possibly can. Just list the things you need to
confess: “I lied.” Full stop. “I am lazy and waste time.” Full stop. “I am proud and yet envious.” Full stop. And so on.
When you cut away the context, there is no way for you to use that context to justify your sinfulness. If you keep it very
simple and try to go back to the source of evilness, things become very clear to you. It is the first step you must take. You
must understand that there is evilness in you, or that you are fighting evilness. This is not about you selling an image to your
father-confessor. This is not about you playing a game or putting on a show: the pious Christian show or the rebel Christian
show or whatever else attracts you. This is simply about you being as naked as possible before Christ. Try to limit your
confession under three minutes. Try to list, for instance, all your sins on a piece of paper before you go to confession, and
then group them into categories, and try to see what is the source of each category. What is that initial mistake, that initial
thing that generates all the visible outcomes, so to say? You may have yelled at your brother and your sister, and that is a
 sin, but what lies underneath that reaction? You may have wasted time, and that is a sin, but what lies underneath that
behavior? And so on and so forth.
Really, this simply helps you to understand the depths of our sinfulness and not focus merely on the surface of it. If you
simply list the mistakes you’ve made, you are really just focusing on the visible side of your sinfulness, but the depth of it,
the heaviness of it lies hidden.”
First off, I realize you didn’t write this Father Stephen, but you said you liked the book, so I will ask you my question. It
seem to me that the third paragraph completely contradicts the first one. In paragraph one, he says to be simple with your
confession. Just say your sins. Then in paragraph three, he basically says, don’t just list your sins. So obviously I’m
confused. And mercy me, in paragraph two he says to “see what is the source of each category of sin” and to figure out
“what lies underneath that reaction / behavior.” Well, I’m not a trained clinical psychologist so I’m not very optimistic
about my chances of figuring out what the underlying reasons are for my sin. Sorry to be so dense, but I’m more confused
about confession after reading that, than I was before I read it.
11. NSP says:
October 13, 2017 at 2:41 am
Dear Fr. Freeman,
I knew a man who struggled over being angry with his teens. They did stuff that teens typically do. He could easily justify
his anger, but it was damaging the relationship and becoming habitual, and was too easily triggered. His spiritual father
pointed him towards his shame. When his teens would disobey, it felt disrespectful and, therefore, shaming. It was the
shame that was triggering the anger. He learned to confront the shame without unnecessarily defending himself and gained
a greater peace.
When I read this I felt like a curtain was gently blown in the wind and I saw a glimmer of light, but I would like to see that
light more clearly.
It seems to me that this describes the point at which I am blocked in my spiritual life. For long I thought that perhaps God
was withholding grace from me to teach me something which was not quite clear to me. But now after reading your articles
for the past few years, I have begun to think that it is not so much that God withholds the grace of moral progress from me,
but that I have trapped myself in an endless pleasure-pain cycle because I am not willing to bear shame in the Present
Moment.
How exactly do I confront my shame? Is this related to your article titled Comfort for a Child – Speaking Peace to Shame?
Do I say to myself when I catch myself procrastinating, or getting angry, or anxious or depressed, “This is happening
because I am trying to avoid the bearing of shame, and also because I have forgotten that I am a sinner who must spend my
life in repentance. I have slipped into a “Two Storey Universe” mindset again. Hence I am ashamed of being in the presence
of the Truth about myself and so I am now reacting with anger/depression/anxiety/avoidance. Let me bear the shame and
trust in Christ in the spirit of St. Peter stepping out of the boat, and and then ‘All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all
manner of thing shall be well!’ ” Would that be a right approach?
Also, do I say in Confession, “I entertained thoughts related to or indulged in anger/depression/anxiety because I couldn’t
bear the shame of some truths about my sinfulness?”
-NSP
12. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: NSP, What you’re describing sounds good. I do not think I would do the analysis in confession
– I would confess the anger/depression/anxiety. Bearing our shame is a sometimes tricky thing. I emphasize Elder
Sophrony’s “little” in his admonition. I think that it is easier to bear a little shame when we are emotionally safe – so that
when I see the shame – I understand that this does not separate me from God in reality. It is an inner affliction that is not so
much a matter of our own fault. Who’s to blame is almost the most useless thing I’ve ever known. It’s only important for
lawyers.
I frequently use thanksgiving in the face of shame – recognizing that what I feel is being healed even as I confront it. Julian
of Norwich’s words “All shall be well” are also useful.
I was at the doctor yesterday. His nurse had to give me a shot. It hurt. But it was not a big deal. It was a healing pain.
The article you reference is about “comforting the soul.” Speak comfort to the shame – calm it down. A little.
The Elder said, “Stand at the abyss until you cannot take it anymore, then step back and have a cup of tea.”
13. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Alan, Use what seems helpful and don’t worry about the rest. In the second paragraph he more
or less describes the process of preparation. List the sins. Look at them. If something emerges that’s good and worth noting.
If not, don’t worry about it. Say a prayer before preparation and a thanksgiving after. We are not on our own. God is at work
in us in all of this.
14. Michael Bauman says: Alan, everybody I know starts with lists of specific bad acts. Lists however are like cutting off the
top of the weed. To get to the root requires greater work of which the lists are a necessary and helpful part.
Lately I have begun to ask myself why I shy away from confession? St. Paul tells us to “go boldly before the throne of
Grace”. Why is it that I do not take every opportunity with joy?
15. Paula says: Father Stephen says: “Who’s to blame is almost the most useless thing I’ve ever known.” How true this is!
I can just imagine going to the doctor to seek healing for our illness, and the doctors attitude or approach to the treatment
begins (and remains) with blaming the sick person for their illness. Not only would that be non conducive to healing, it
would produce an inordinate amount of shame that would instead cripple us. We then agree with this blaming! I would
venture to say we know very well that our lifestyle contributes to our infirmities. To be reminded of this requires some
delicacy (hence, “a little shame”). A doctor who understands all the facets of healing knows how to approach the patient
gently yet firmly, identifies the problem, and proceeds with the treatment. But we have to trust this doctor. And so with our
 God…even more so, as our Master Healer, He knows exactly what we need to heal our sick souls. He knows we need to
confess our sins. We know what our sins are (basically), that we confess to Him (through the priest), and in the mystery of
this sacrament He heals…however long or short it takes, He does it. We complicate things greatly as we are complex in our
being…but trust is one of the most simple and effective means to healing. As I think I am so “mature”, so wise in my elder
years, is the very time to “go down” and become like a child, to revert to that child-like faith…because really, I know not as
I should! As Father Stephen says, “use what seems helpful and don’t worry about the rest”! and trust!
16. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: How true this is. We so easily forget that Christ came to seek and to save those who are lost.
He did not come into the world to condemn the world but that the world might be saved. Such simple understandings of the
goodness of God need to be repeated over and over again as we seek to combat the dark thoughts that assault us.
17. Dean says: Fr. Stephen,
This is not really pertinent to the discussion, but I know you read David Bentley Hart. Have you seen his N.T. translation?
Wondering if I should invest 23 dollars for it. I did download the Kindle sample. I am not universalist but I do like his more
positive slant….As you say, we do need to constantly remind ourselves of the goodness of God, His ever present grace and
mercy.
18. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Dean, I have seen it. It is interesting, but not something I will reference much.
19. Dino says: Fr Stephen, Agata,
I sometimes think that the reason the conversation on shame (as a root of most of the manifestations of our sinfulness) is the
so difficult to comprehend, is due to the way it is framed: The root (shame of our being) is pointed at, the tree and branches
are called out as manifestations of that root, the recognition of the root (bearing a little shame in confession) is mentioned as
a necessity, but the necessary reframing does not occur in our mind, and the poor mind remains quite perplexed.. We forget
the Cross and how it took this and transformed it… Perhaps some key connections need to be pointed out for
this: Acceptance(difficult as it is) of the giveness of our being, of the giveness of our context, of the giveness of others and
of the giveness of God’s plan -without wanting to change any of it to suit my non-accepting ego – is what needs to be
brought into this conversation. Humility is this (acceptance): The kenosis of “Not my will but yours” (Luke 22:42),
despite the shame for my will’s self-image, is the true Christocentric, kenosis, that accepts the ‘shame’ of the revelation
that God is all and I am nought. This kenosis of the will transforms me into Christ. So the classic patristic advise on the
liberation from my ‘thelima’ (selfish-will) with its infinite manifestations is closely related to the conversation and might
give another angle of understanding for us who struggle to get it.
20. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Dino, Yes. This sums up some things that have been given and said in bits and pieces.
21. Dino says: Had to restate all this Paula , addressing Agata, mainly as a response to Agata’s unanswered : “don’t understand
this at all, and I think I need to… How did he learn to “confront his shame”? What kind of shame and how to recognize it,
name it? Please explain this if you can. This is for me one of the most difficult things in your writings”… the main point
being that the patristic “cutting off of one’s will” in trustful surrender to “thy will be done” ought to enter the shame
coversation explicitly and with a clearly recognised connection to it.
22. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Dino, I agree, viz. “cutting off of one’s will.” However, I intentionally avoid some of the more
common monastic expressions. There is an edge to them that easily overwhelms a modern reader (and young one’s at that).
My long project on this topic is purposefully slow.
23. Dean says: Fr. Stephen, While I have a master’s degree, my wife’s formal education is much less…however, she is very
gifted in banking and finances. She reads all of your posts. Yet I’ve never heard her say, ” What Father wrote was rather
obtuse.” She comprehends what you write. So much of our understanding depends upon our upbringing, life circumstances,
etc. Even more important than mental acumen is that we live out what we do understand, so that transformation in Christ
can occur.
24. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Dean, It’s one reason that I tend to post far more than a single article on a topic (if it’s major).
My experience has been that even if you write quite plainly and bluntly, the coin doesn’t always drop as you’d expect. If I
beat the bush long enough, perhaps some coins will fall.
Dino’s summary anticipated some of what I’m working on in my present book. Everything is being seen in terms of the
Cross (kenosis, emptying). There will be a section on shame, but put in the larger context of the Cross. Work is going quite
slowly. Prayers are welcome.
25. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: “Dis-grace” carries some of the meaning – but I think “shame” is still the right word, despite
the problems.
One thing that is going on in my articles is an attempt to incorporate material from clinical studies – clinical studies rooted
in neurobiology and not in a vague, popular psychology model. There is something of a “hard science” in that aspect of
shame that is very useful in coming to understand our experience.
The tradition and its language clearly enlighten it, expand it, and ground it in a theological understanding. I am, therefore,
working with a vocabulary that is common to both, where possible.
Frequently, one of the problems of theological phrases, drawn from the tradition, is our ability to “tune out” when we hear
them. We think we understand them and we don’t. I see this in conversations all the time. That reality drives much of my
writing – an effort to say the right thing in a fresh way so that it might be heard.
We say “grace,” and people think they know what it means, for example. But I find that people rarely understand what it
means, and the host of wrong meanings that fills their heads makes it hard for them to actually get at the thing itself.
My approach is slower, requires lots of repetition and restating. On the whole, it seems to work for many. Suggestions on
refining a point are very important – the comments section is often better than the article itself. All things work together for
good…even on a blog.
26. Thomas B says: Father, In Psalms 77:10 it says: “And I said, This is my infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right
hand of the most High”. The Greek version is “such is the change/distortion/transformation of the Right hand of the most
High”. I have often wondered about this change. Your articles on the fallacy of progress made me wonder: what is this
“transformation” and how is it manifest? *Made manifest, I meant to write.
27. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Thomas, Interesting question. That particular verse, “Now is the change of the Most High,” is
appointed to be sung at a number of major feasts in the Orthodox Church, particularly those associated with the Incarnation
of Christ. God become Man – the Coming of the Kingdom of God – is this “change of the Most High.” It is not matter of
progression or of evolving – it is a change made by God Himself. The Kingdom of God has come in Christ Jesus and cannot
be stopped. It is being manifest already. It will, at the end of things, be revealed in its fullness.
28. Agata says: Father, Michael and Dino,
Thank you for your answers. They are very helpful. Michael, you are right that God teaches us what we need to know when
the time is right. Based on what I read here, I should not be asking to find out what true shame is. When I need to know, the
lesson will come…
Father, I heard you once say that Communion is “Grace on a spoon”… We take in Grace when we receive the Mysteries,
and “shame on us” if we “dis-grace” (in this case I understand it would be doing something “not true to ourselves”, or what
we know deep inside is not right) ourselves in any way afterwards… That is the best I can do with all these concepts for

now…
Father, since you mentioned the subject of Grace, I would like to ask you to expand on it a bit. In one of Dr. Clark Carlton’s
talks he mentioned that according to Metropolitan Herotheos Vlachos, the understanding of Grace is the main and most
profound difference between Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism. That the Roman Catholic Church teaches that “Grace is a
created intermediary”, while in the Orthodox tradition when we encounter Grace, we encounter God Himself. Is this the
reason why we cannot receive Communion in the Catholic Church and vice versa?
29. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Agata, The debates surrounding the teaching of St. Gregory Palamas concern the nature of
grace. In Orthodox teaching (codified in Councils that met in the 1300’s), grace is indeed “God’s uncreated energies,” and
therefore, God Himself. This concerns the distinction between the Divine Energies and the Divine Essence. It is a
distinction that is often way above our “pay grade” – in my estimation – other than the fact that we Orthodox understand
that the grace that works within us is none other than God Himself and not a created effect.
Roman Catholicism has, I understand, held this differently. It is more than possible to overdo the disagreements between
Orthodoxy and Catholicism in such matters. For one, despite arguments to the contrary, the position and understanding
within Roman Catholicism has shifted on a variety of things, more towards the Orthodox point-of-view more often than not.
I’m not certain at all how they might think about this at present.
The differences between Roman Catholics and Orthodox are formal, in certain respects: Papal authority, the Filioque (“and
the Son” inserted in the Creed by later RC’s). There are many, many more differences that are more subtle, some of which
are of little consequence, others much more so.
We do not have communion with them because we lack unity of doctrine and agreed practice (not just on the point of the
Divine Energies). The Church is organically “one” in every respect. We are not in “union” or “unity” with one another.
There are probably some Orthodox who think that the differences are quite small, almost insignificant. There are others who
think they are quite large, and almost impossible to overcome. Of the two, I lean more to the latter position, though I’m not
dogmatic about it.
30. Agata says: Thank you Father, I appreciate your explanation very much. I think Fr. Tom Hopko was of similar opinion to
yours, I remember some long list of issues he once enumerated in a response to an invitation from the Catholics to the
Orthodox to “reunite” with them…
I saw some of the “shifting” you describe in my own life. When my cousin’s daughter was baptized in a “progressive”
Catholic parish in Warsaw about 8 years ago, I was amazed to see basically Orthodox iconography in their baptismal
chapel. This May I went to her First Communion in their parish in Switzerland where they now live (mostly Italian families
go there). The service included praying the Creed, and the Filioque was not there, there was only belief “in the Holy Spirit”,
without any words about “giver of life”, proceeding, or worshiping or speaking through the Prophets… The end of the
Creed was shortened even more…
31. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Agata,
You were not hearing the “Nicene Creed” but the “Apostles’ Creed” – a creed anciently associated with Baptism that is
used commonly in the West in that sacrament. The Nicene Creed is actually an expansion of one of those early Creeds – but
in the Orthodox Church is the only one we use.
32. Thomas B says: Thank you for clarifying, Father. If I may labour the point a bit further: how is the transformation
(“aliosis”) of the hand of Christ made manifest on the believer?
We don’t become full of light nor do we become more moral, improved people. At times, the struggle makes us grumpy or
leaves us feeling like failures. However, something changes. Maybe it is a mystery and how this is expressed outwardly is
of no importance. For instance, and this is no ordinary example, how was St Paul changed after he heard God? We know
bits of his life and that he also carried on with a “thorn in the flesh”.
Maybe it is a mystery of the life within the fact of the Kingdom of God which is already upon us and how this is expressed
outwardly is of no importance.
 I would still like to know so that I recognise it when it happens. I sound like a parent keen to know how their child is doing

despite teachers arguing that ‘grades don’t matter’

This is compounded by the fact that the change which occurs is much more on the scale of a tree growing than a flower
blooming. It takes time…many years. The younger you are, the less likely you will be able to see. The older you are…the
more it seems obvious (in hindsight).
33. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Thomas, Probably the best yardstick of transformation is that it will matter less and less to you,
and Christ Himself will matter more and more. We abandon ourselves to Him, delight ourselves in Him. We lose ourselves
in the Beloved. We receive our lives back as a gift – and then we offer them back to Him. And on and on.
34. Matthew Hryniewicz says: Would it be accurate to say that since the re-making of the self does not destroy who we are, it
is really the completion of our creation as opposed to a total demolition and rebuilding? Since death is not annihilation but a
turning away, we don’t die to our being but to our false apprehensions of who we are and to the defiling sins we’ve covered
ourselves with. Then, our resurrection is not a sort of replacement of who we now are, but is a drawing out of the potential
that is already baked into what we are. What I have in mind is something like how Gregory of Nyssa likened resurrection to
the growth of a tree from a mere seed. The tree both is the seed and is not the seed. It is the fulfillment of all that is within
the seed and shares all the seed’s history, yet it has few traits in common with its former self.
35. Fr. Stephen Freeman says: Matthew, Yes. Like St. Gregory of Nyssa.